


Songbird in the Lion’s Den

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barbed Penis, Bird/Human Hybrids, Cat/Human Hybrids, Cloaca, Dubious Consent, M/M, Penetrative Sex, Power Dynamics, Rimming, Wingfic, birdman!Jon, catboy!Elias, fear kink, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28656822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Elias looks at Jon like he’s prey. Jon wishes that was enough to make him run.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	Songbird in the Lion’s Den

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a discussion about catboy!Elias fucking birdman!Jon. Which is exactly what this is. Set in some sort of vague AU of S4.

Elias looks at Jon like he’s prey.

It’s not the first time Jon’s thought that, the feeling seeping into meetings and casual encounters and shouted arguments alike. But it feels particularly vivid now, because it’s not just a feeling that Jon can dismiss as old instincts misfiring. Not because of those sharp teeth or that hungry smile. No, it’s the eyes that worry him, gold and slit and tracking him as he slides awkwardly on a stool. Elias looks like he wants to pounce. And Jon has no idea what might happen after that.

“How lovely for you to visit. Tea?” Elias rests his hand lightly on a pot on the table between them, his claws clicking pointedly on the ceramic. Instinct, just stupid instinct, making Jon’s pulse speed up at the flash of Elias’s teeth, his own gaze darting wildly from Elias to the exit. His wings flutter, body ready for flight that won’t help him inside anyway. And he’s not sure even outdoors he could move before Elias reached him.

“No.” He grits his teeth and pulls his wings tighter against his back. “You know why I’m here.”

“Yes,” Elias says, setting both hands on the table. He leans forward, ears flicking towards Jon. And Jon can’t help it; he leans back.

“You’re here because you want to prove you’re not afraid of me. But we both know that’s not true,” Elias continues.

He gets to his feet, but Jon’s eyes are locked on the table where Elias’s hands still rest. His claws are out again, digging into the wood. He’ll leave marks. But that’s no surprise. Elias loves leaving his mark on things.

As he comes around to Jon’s side of the table, Jon can’t control himself anymore. He scrambles to his feet, wings flapping pointlessly as he backs away. Elias is between him and the door, and the window is far too small and barred. Of course it is; this is supposed to be a prison of sorts. But right now, it’s a cage. One Jon is trapped in with a man who bears a striking resemblance to a hungry lion.

“I’m here for answers,” Jon manages to spit out, just as his wings hit the wall. Elias stops stalking towards him, though he’s still far too close for Jon’s taste, still cutting off any escape. “And I’m going to have them. What are you—”

Elias’s hand shoots out and grips his throat, transforming the question into a startled chirp. The claws are now digging into his skin, not breaking it but teasing it with pinpricks of pain that make Jon’s pulse thunder wildly.

“You don’t know the right questions to ask.” Elias leans in, lips stretching back to reveal those terribly sharp teeth. “But I’ll give you some answers, since you’ve done me the courtesy of a visit.”

“I know what I want. I want to know what you’re planning. I want to—” His wings flap helplessly, trapped against the wall, as Jon is trapped by Elias’s tightening grip. He needs to get out of here. This was a mistake, impulsive, stupid.

“You don’t know.” Elias’s lips brush Jon’s neck, just above his hand, and his teeth scrape at Jon’s jugular, leaving Jon weak with terror. “You think it is instinct that drives you into this state. A basic nature you’re determined to overcome. And maybe it is, in part.” His other hand is slipping under Jon’s shirt, claws out and skimming over Jon’s stomach.

“You’re a monster,” Jon finally says, his voice more of a squeak than he likes.

“True,” Elias says with a low laugh that makes Jon’s heart clench, and his wings flutter pointlessly again. “But so are you. And you _like_ being afraid.”

Before Jon can answer, Elias’s hands are on his trousers, claws digging into the flimsy fabric. A terrible ripping sound fills the air, and Jon tries not to think about it as Elias repeats the action until Jon’s trousers and underwear are nothing but shreds. His throat is free, but his mind is reeling, struggling against the waves of terror and something so much worse as Elias spins him around and drags him to the floor.

“I don’t,” Jon says, but his voice is weak, his wings now hanging limply to either side.

“Give in, Jon,” Elias says as he repositions Jon on his hands and knees. His hand finds the juncture of Jon’s wings, and when he pushes, Jon bends. Leaving his arse in the air, with Elias behind it. To take what he wants even as Jon reels from feelings he’s no longer sure are fear and struggles to find a protest that will stick.

“So I’ll be like you?” Jon asks, his voice arching into a whistling moan as Elias’s hands rest against Jon’s thighs. His claws press lightly into Jon’s skin, a suggestion of what he could do that leaves Jon breathless. He nuzzles Jon’s cloaca, and his soft ears brush Jon’s skin, making him shiver.

“Already ready for me, are you?” His tongue darts out, rough against the sensitive flesh Jon knows must have swelled, dragging another lilting moan from Jon’s throat. “Perfect. You sing such lovely songs, terror torn from other’s lips. I want to hear you sing only for me.”

“Don’t you already have that?” His bitter laugh goes high and chirping as Elias laps at his hole again. “Will you stop that?”

Jon’s fingers dig into his arms, and he bites back another moan as Elias doesn’t stop that. And why would he? It’s not like Jon’s giving much indication this isn’t what he wants, pushing back against Elias as his tongue dipped inside. Bringing the slightest edge of pain, the small spines pull on the all too sensitive flesh. A pain Jon should deny, that he doesn’t want. He can’t.

“You want more? I can give you that.”

Elias’s tongue withdraws, and Jon rocks pointlessly into the empty air. He should leave now, while he still can. He doesn’t think Elias would stop him. Flight is instinctual. Why can’t he just give into that instead? He’s terrified, heart pounding and his gasps increasingly high-pitched with fear, with the desire to sound the alarm.

Behind him, cloth rustles. A cap opens, and Jon doesn’t have to look to know what it is.

“Why are you doing this?” Jon asks, as if he’s pulling away from the fingers now prodding at his hole, slick with lube.

“Because while I have full trust in your ability to withstand it, it’ll be easier this way.” Elias thrusts two fingers in, and Jon lets out a warbling cry before he manages to press his face harder against his arms, muffling the noises that continue as Elias roughly prepares him. At least he had the good grace to sheath his claws.

When he stops, Jon knows he won’t have long, forcing himself back to hands and knees, braced on arms that tremble more than he likes. He takes a deep breath, and pulls his wings over his back, letting them cover his aching cloaca again. Allowing him a moment of dignity, even if he knows it won’t last.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. There’s no—no point, no need.”

“Hmm.” There’s a rustle of clothing, and the clink of a belt buckle, making Jon take in a sharp breath. “Perhaps not in the strictest sense. But I don’t do everything out of need.”

Jon stiffens, fluffing up his feathers. “Oh, so it’s not business, but pleasure?”

Not that he truly thought otherwise, but he supposes it’s nice to have confirmation.

“Something like that,” Elias says with a low laugh, running a hand lightly over Jon’s wings with his claws out again, catching on the feathers and making Jon squirm. “But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He tries to finally turn, to glimpse Elias, but before he can the air is slammed out of his chest as a hand on his wings forces him roughly down again. This time it remains there, digging into the feathers and flesh underneath until Jon relents, spreading them again.

“Oh, Jon. Don’t pretend you don’t know.” His claws dig in again, catching hard in the juncture of Jon’s wings. Jon clings to the sensation, clings to the fading pretense of ignorance that he doesn’t know what Elias is talking about. He’s wrong. Always, he’s needed it. The pleasure…the pleasure was always incidental.

Yet he can’t help but wonder if when they saw him, he looked like Elias in their eyes.

Elias’s other hand digs into Jon’s thigh, and it’s a pain Jon focuses on. Better the sweet prick of his claws than the terrible weight of his words. “Yes, they did.” Elias shifts forward, and Jon can feel the tip of Elias’s cock nudging against his hole, the briefest brush of it making him trill. “Some hungers go beyond need. And we see no reason not to sate them.”

Jon wants to say there’s no ‘we’, that he’s nothing like Elias, he’s not. But the words are stolen from his throat as Elias thrusts in, and pulls out just as quickly. The pain is as terrible as Jon expected, and all the more terrible for being so much better. Each shallow thrust drags on his tender, swollen flesh. Sharp in a way he wishes didn’t feel so good, each wave of pain drawing desperate chirps from his lips.

Then Elias shifts again, his cock going deeper as he bends over Jon and replaces his hands with his teeth on Jon’s tender wings. It hurts—Christ, it hurts—but the sound that falls from his lips isn’t a cry of pain, not entirely. He’s stretched between the two points of torment, the teeth sharp in his flesh and the barbs dragging against it. All too much and he feels himself tensing, his hole pulsing around Elias, trying to force his come free as he tips over the edge.

But there’s nowhere for it to go. Elias continues to fuck him, forcing the come deeper inside, nothing but extra lubricant to ease his way further into Jon’s oversensitive hole. Distantly, Jon can hear a low growl emerging from Elias’s throat, even as his own throat is consumed by tiny, chirping moans. Pathetic, and he can’t deny he wants it to last, his body suffused with waves of pain and pleasure as his wings flutter helplessly at his sides.

Elias’s teeth dig in harder, and Jon’s certain he’s drawn blood, even as he’s also certain it doesn’t matter. The wound will only last as long as Elias’s teeth remain, and Jon wants them to remain there. So he can pretend he is what he seems, even as he knows the illusion is already cracked. 

The thrusts are shallower now, and the growl louder as Elias comes inside him, then stills. Jon waits for him to move, waits for the final painful extraction, but all Elias does is loosen his bite and begin to lick at the blood Jon can feel sliding down his back and soaking into his feathers.

Each drag of his tongue sends more shivers through Jon’s body, knocking any remaining sense from him even as he tries to speak. And when Elias finishes and releases Jon, Jon stays where he is, bent and spread and waiting for whatever Elias might say.

“You want to fear. You want to be able to pretend you’re still prey.” Elias’s finger circles Jon’s hole lightly, and when he pushes inside, Jon can’t stop a noise that almost sounds like agreement from falling from his lips. “Only I can still give you that.” His arm reaches around Jon’s chest, pulling Jon back onto his fingers, leaving Jon at his mercy as those long teeth graze his throat, plucking a sharp trill from him. “My lovely songbird, in the lion’s den.”


End file.
